held between heaven and hell we dance
by whitesatinblacksilk
Summary: The traces of bloody fingerprints on her beautiful body reveal what Bellatrix is for. Seven moments in the twisted relationship of Bellatrix Lestrange and Lord Voldemort. Oneshot.


_a thousand cold caresses - _1972

The bloody fingerprints on her beautiful body reveal the traces of what Bellatrix is for. Her passion, her devotion, her love and endless sexual craving.

She knows he'll never love her, knows she will only get cold caresses.

But she never wants their time together to end.

* * *

><p><em>give yourself over to absolute pleasure - <em>1969

He craves her. He wants her. He longs for her.

The cocktease has this sick obsession with him, and she wants it just as much. She slides her skirt up when he watches, sucks on her finger when his eyes meet hers, reapplies her ruby lipstick and bats her eyes. He can recall her initiation, when he made her suck his cock. He desires it more and more every time he sees her, to kick her on her knees and hold her head. But more than anything, he desires her in his bed.

Why he doesn't do it is a matter of principle. She is his servant, and she's incredibly young—twenty-five years his junior. Not to mention she's madly in love with him. But that doesn't stop the sex dreams at night, the fantasies about dominating the controlling sadist who makes him ache.

He has been training her in dark magic. She's an exceptional student, and a powerful witch. Her eagerness, her incredibly sadism and desire. She's the perfect pupil. Tonight he has taken her out on her own, for a task with him instead of with other Death Eaters on his orders. And they return slightly buzzed from torture, murder and intoxicants.

She steps towards him, closer than any servant dares.

"My lord," she whispers, "my lord, will you…?"

She sounds frightened. But she slips forward and kisses him on the lips. He returns it fiercely, thinking about abandoning his inhibition. Their lips war, tongues intertwining with each other. The Dark Lord slides his hand up into her dress, feeling her. Mmm, he wants her body. It feels good.

"Will you…?" she chokes and he nods. He knows what she wants. It's against his morals, but he wants it too much.

He disapparates with her, upstairs in the Death Eaters base. It's easier than walking.

The Dark Lord throws her on the bed as she struggles with her clothes. She seems both aroused and terrified. He's excited, both sexually and mentally. He unbuttons his shirt and walks to the bed, tearing at her dress that she fights against. Her bra and underwear are dark pink, which is funny. Her body is almost exposed: unmarked, pale, beautiful in all ways. He presses her against him, kissing her everywhere. She runs her fingers along him, running them over his contoured muscles.

They toy with each other for a while, desperate for more and more. Her fingertips slip to his cock, swirling around it, stroking it, massaging it, begging for it. He's hard and full, craving release inside of her hot, young, taut body.

He slides off his pants, pressing her down against the mattress. She moans as he feels her up and grinds against her. He unsnaps her bra, releasing her small, round breasts. They're gorgeous. His lips stray, and his hands, as she digs her fingernails into his back. He pulls her on top of him for a moment, giving her chance to try.

She freezes for a split second, seeming afraid. This whole time she's been petrified. Finally, ` she slides down and licks his cock. His hand snakes to the back of her head and she slides her lips around it. She sucks on it for a few fantastic moments, and he guides her with his hand.

Finally, he can't take anymore; he wants to fuck her too badly. He throws her down on her back and slides on top of her, pinning her hands back to the pillow. The Dark Lord tears down her underwear and she gasps. Not bad.

"Wait, my lord," she breathes, seeming to have second thoughts. "Wait."

He puts his hand over her mouth and thrusts into her. Her scream pierces the air. He pulls in and out, thrusting and pumping. She's the tightest thing he has ever felt in his life. She screams and howls, begging him to stop, but he keeps going, moaning, calling her a filthy whore.

After a while of the unbearable pleasure of fucking her tight cunt, he comes in her. He feels her fill up with everything he held back as she teased him for over a month. Power. Afterwards, gasping, he pulls out and looks down at her.

Then he sees it—the blood. Her panting and tears streaming down her face. It explains the fear and the tightness.

He slaps her.

"You didn't tell me you were a virgin!" He shakes her and she shrieks.

"I'm-I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't think you had to know." She looks petrified.

He calms down slowly, looking her up and down. Finally, he gets up and pulls his clothes back on, watching her chest heave up and down, and the blood glisten on his white sheets.

"I'll be seeing you. And expecting more." He disapparates.

* * *

><p><em>cold <em>– 1996

Bellatrix sits on the bed, her sleek black hair damp from the shower.

Her skin glistens, still slightly wet. She wears a thin silk robe, bare skin beneath it. Absentmindedly, she rubs lotion into her freshly shaved legs, leaning against the wall. She would say she just wants to relax, but while sharing a bedroom with the Dark Lord after Azkaban, she is waiting for him to come in and see her so vulnerable and sexualized.

They haven't even touched in two weeks, despite fucking three times a day when they were unable to leave the manor. Her cravings are uncontrollable, making her ache in the middle of the night when he accidentally brushes against her. She is frightened for her use, for his affection and attraction. They were at it less and less once the Death Eaters came back into the open, but now it's been _long_. So long that it hurts.

The Dark Lord walks into the room and her heart leaps. He examines her for a moment and then, wordlessly, walks to the bed. He sits beside her and takes the bottle of lotion from her hands, rubbing it into her legs. Casually, without making eye contact, he swirls it around the inside of her thigh and she can't contain a moan.

"Are you still attracted to me?" she breathes, startling even herself.

He removes his hand from her, tilting her chin towards him.

"What the _hell _gave you that absurd idea?" the Dark Lord demands, looking more puzzled than enraged.

"We haven't… in two weeks… I thought…" she whispers, frightened.

"Of course I'm attracted to you. You certainly look better than you did after Azkaban, and I was still attracted to you then," he says, sounding bored. "I've been preoccupied. There are more important things than my sexual desires, and yours."

"I know, my lord. Whatever you want," Bellatrix whispers, kissing his neck.

He slides open her robe, revealing bare skin. She melts into him, whispering, "You don't have to do this."

"Shut up," he says, pushing her down onto the mattress.

They tear at each other as if they haven't touched in a thousand years.

* * *

><p><em>see the face of the shape of things to come - 1976<em>

Bellatrix wakes to the Dark Lord's fingers on her neck. She knows what his touch is like when he desires her body, and this is alien. Fear and confusion run through her veins, an icy chill. She opens her eyes, turning to him.

"You're awake," he whispers, looking surprised.

"I'm sorry, my lord," she replies on impulse, and he doesn't respond.

She slides beside him, resting her head on his bare chest. His skin is cool and comfortable, while hers is on fire. He strokes her sweaty hair, wrapping it around his fingers. Their sex is violence, but the intimacy tender.

"I had the strangest dream about you," he says, and she can tell from his tone that it wasn't a sex dream.

"What was it about, if I may ask, my lord," she whispers, swirling her fingers around his chest.

He pauses, seeming to be contemplating telling her. Juicy.

"It was about a little girl," he says, shifting his touch to her smooth back. "I heard her calling for me, from a pit of snakes. She was calling for me, but not frightened. I followed her voice, desperate to _help _her, which surprised me. But then I learned why. She was my daughter, everything I imagined my child to be. And I held her in my arms, and felt oddly complete. Are you listening, Bellatrix?"

"Of course, my lord." She drinks in every words of hers, and some, like these, taste quite bitter.

"You wonder why it concerns you," he says, tapping his finger on her spine. "You were her mother."

Bellatrix is shocked. She never imagined herself a _mother_, and doubted that he would either. Then again, she never imagined him a father, after two mutual abortions.

"Was it a desire or a nightmare, my lord?" she whispers, closing her eyes.

He is silent.

"That's quite personal, don't you think?" He never discloses things about himself, unless by accident. "A desire, Bellatrix. I've always wanted to be a father."

Bellatrix is silent. She wants to scream out that she would give it to him, but she knows that isn't what he wants. No one would want her to mother their child.

"Bella," he breathes, picking her up and setting her next to him. "Can I ask you for something?"

Bellatrix nods. "Anything, my lord."

"I want you to really think about this, and not just say yes instantly. Consider it, or I won't accept," he says sincerely, and she's thrown off guard. "Will you have my child?"

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

* * *

><p><em>the dark lord will rise again, crouch – 1995<em>

Bellatrix is anxious beyond anxious. Narcissa has put her back together, returned most of her beauty, save for what was lost in prison. She hasn't been able to speak save for asking for her master. He'll see her in minutes.

Finally, Wormtail opens the door, Bellatrix being the last servant to see the Dark Lord. She walks inside hesitantly, almost afraid of what she'll see. But she feels alive for the first time in a long time.

"Bellatrix." She recognizes his voice – lazy, careless, intimidating, cold.

"My lord." She falls on her knees.

Reunited.

* * *

><p><em>i know i'm selfish, i'm unkind – 1973<em>

The Dark Lord lies in bed with her, staring at her broken body. She sleeps so peacefully, lying in bed beside him. He has grown so attached to her. The _feelings _he has for his most faithful servant cloud his judgment. His attachment to her is so _human _and so _mortal._

No: he doesn't love her. No: he wouldn't give his life for her. Yes: he would miss her so much if she was gone.

She is like a possession, almost as dear to him as the fragments of his soul. It sickens him.

He picks up his wand. The only way to end this attachment is to kill her.

"Avada…" He feels something odd – an inability to commit murder. Killing is second nature to him.

He can't kill her.

And he hates her for it.

* * *

><p><em>i want your horror – 1969<em>

Bellatrix slips away from him, his fingertips following her to his side. She stares at her master, breath rushing in and out her lips, her heart palpitating. Fourth time. Second night in his bed. She was thrust from her home nights before, told to care for herself until she realizes she is less of an adult than she believes, despite being eighteen and a Death Eater.

His fingers swirl around her navel and her stomach clenches. The Dark Lord's lips are contorted into an amused smile, clearly pleased with what he got from her. The sheets are sweaty, and her skin sticky. He looks at her hungrily, despite satisfying his appetite four times in three nights.

"Tell me about yourself, Bella," he whispers, drawing her towards him. She rests her head on his chest, setting her hand against his burning skin.

"You've read my mind, my lord," she breathes into his ear. "You know me better than I do."

His hand snakes onto her back, and then to her neck. She feels chills, more vulnerable than usual in his hands.

"I want to know more. You want to know why I desire you?" he asks smoothly and she kisses his chest in response. "Not just because you're hot and a tease. No, because you began as this pure, untapped source of sadistic desire, longing to hurt, longing to torment and torture and purify, obscenely loyal, and this repressed sexuality. It's like a dream."

She looks up, her eyes sparkling in admiration and joy. Having his affection and satisfaction with her and her loyalty means more than her life to her.

"How did it start? Where did this spring from, Bellatrix? Why can you not be happy without sadism? And why are you so hopelessly and pathetically in love with me?" he whispers, and she wonders if he knows already, or if he really doesn't have any idea.

Bellatrix lies pressed against him with her heavily lidded eyes closed for a moment, thinking. Her past is riddled with things that could have led to her beautiful new self.

"When I was young, I knew that I liked to hurt things. Listen to squeals of little squirrels, watching spiders writhe in agony while I dismembered them, one limb at a time," she breathes, not realizing how sick she sounds. "I would torture them until they bled to death, or died of pure agony. It was my little secret, and my only real pleasure in my fucked up little perfect pureblood life. I hid the bodies in a special little spot in the forest. The only person who knew was Andromeda—who walked in on me once as I tortured and broke the wings of a little bird. She walked out, then followed me to the woods."

Her lips twitch with a strange smile. He twists her smooth, straight black hair in his long fingers, waiting for her to continue.

"I graduated to human victims later, once I got a wand. But, you see, I never could have all I wanted. Then I learned of your cause." She kisses his neck, then slips out her tongue and runs it across his ear. He tenses, digging his nails into her bare back. "It tempted me. To have all the victims I wanted, and to purify the wizarding race. I soon ended up desiring you, as much as your cause. We should all do what we're good at, I suppose. I had potential for a lot of things—good grades, hottest girl at Hogwarts, Quidditch star, many OWLs. But the thing I was best at was torture. And you gave me that. And all I wanted was for you to fuck me. You're all I think about."

She hesitates, wondering why he's so silent.

"You probably think I'm sick, don't you? Getting off on torturing animals…" she breathes, starting to edge away from him. He seizes her arm, sending a shot of pain through her Mark, and pulls her onto him again.

"I think it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard." He takes her face in his hand, studying her closely with his cruel, dark eyes. "You're the most beautiful monster I've ever known."

She kisses his cheek, then his neck, then his chest, then running her tongue down him, slipping under the blankets, ready to pleasure him. And he lets her. And he enjoys it.


End file.
